I, According to Me
by Guttersnipe
Summary: Ch2Sasuke:And the disconcerting circumstance, of a boy so young having an ambition so tainted, is not lost on him. Ch3Sakura:But there is a rift between them. She knows. Has known it since the beginnings of Team Seven. Will have all teams.
1. Arc I, PI: They Murder Him

I, According to Me

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. That copyright belongs to Masashi Kishimoto.

_I don't want to be perceived the way I am_

_I just want to be perceived the way I am_

-"Chap Stick, Chapped Lips, And Things Like Chemistry" by Relient K

**Arc I: The Lonely Ones**

**Part I: They Murder Him**

"I'm not a monster, just a kid. I house a demon due to circumstances beyond my control; however, the demon does _not _control me. I am me. The Kyuubi is the Kyuubi."

That is what he would like to say to those scornful gazes. Blind villagers, for they do not see the truth of what's before them: a scared little boy with joy to spread, though his life is void of reason for it. Yet they cluck their tongues, befouling a name that knows no blood, has seen no battle, has held no blade, and splatter it with patron crimson he holds no deed for.

And what of their shinobi logic? Their esteemed minds, capable of decrypting the most tangled subterfuges (and of _creating_ such vile trickery), cannot seem to comprehend the blatant truth of his unwanted mantle: he is not the monster.

Animosity without reason is therefore a familiar companion to Naruto. A childhood comprised solely of hate-filled interaction---if any exchange occurs at all---has taught him a harsh, though valuable lesson that few adults even comprehend: shame of self and the resulting self-pity, becomes the _true_ ultimate downfall of any shunned one. No great man ever stood on his platform and led the masses with plaintive cries of self-debasement and concession to the illusory claims held over him by the spiteful, ignorant mind.

And he _will _be a great man someday. Therefore, wallowing in the public-imposed misery, that the villagers ensure saturates his life, is not an option for him. He will show that he is more than a dark scar of painful remembrance for Konoha; that he is _more_ than what they tell him he is; that he _deserves_ more than what they see fit to give him; that he is _worthy_ of a hero's title.

_Worth._ That is what he obsessed over as a young child, and still does today: the recognition that he deserves to exist; that he belongs; that he is a _human_ child who has a place of merit in his world; that he is worthy of life when others have died.

This last statement is the focus of much heated emotion for him, when he encounters people who believe their life is no longer worth living and deserves to be thrown away, for the simple fact that someone else has died. It has become one of his many inner mantras; that no life is worth throwing away. It is a conviction meant to stir the will to live within a defeated soul; but it is also an order to himself to value his own existence all the more, for no one else will appreciate or love it quite as much as he will; no one else will govern his worth; no one else will tell him when to die. More importantly, no one else will tell him when to _live_.

Because his life is his own, no one else's. Though many will try to tell him otherwise---through the painful actions they seem to favour over words---he carries his own fate within himself.

The villagers, still haunted by the mobile hell that is the Kyuubi, try to manipulate him; control him. They will delve into his very soul and shatter him beyond recognition, if it means keeping that which they fear the most locked deep within the confines of its living, breathing prison, and their own scarred memories.

He is a necessary insurance for Konoha's safety, in the eyes of some villagers; a ticking time bomb that should have been dismantled years ago, in the eyes of others.

But whatever way they skew it, the fact remains: he is a sacrifice. The proverbial scapegoat, offered up to their ignorant and fanatical gods. The bleeding heart of a persecuted stranger, for they do not even know him, yet they rip at him like wolves.

Because all they know---all they ever _needed_ to know---is that he holds darkness within him, and he veils it with his sunshine smiles and his innocent laughs (_too_ innocent, some villagers might say), attempting to blot out the abysmal content of his body with the radiance of his own soul.

But what soul can outshine such a beast as the one he contains? _A candle alone cannot illuminate the dark side of the moon._

They murder him.

Every day, in any and every way imaginable, they murder him. They throw rocks and sticks, rotten food and even kunai. They break his skin and bruise his soul. They ransack his (pitiful excuse for a) home, destroying his personal space; his sanctuary. They toss about words that they cannot even begin to fathom the true meaning of when such terms are placed upon one so innocent as he.

And they kill him. Everyday, they kill him. With their hate and spite and malice, so unjust, they kill him.

But everyday, he rises again. Back from the death of his soul. Back from the small deaths he feels inside, every time he meets eyes that reflect the image of a monster. (They identify him with a demon fox, but really he is a lamb. An innocent lamb, led to the slaughter, each and every day of his life.) He comes back, alive to be crucified again. And tomorrow, he will do it all over anew, never screaming the words that he knows in his bleeding, yet pure, heart to be true. Those words that he will never, _never_ be made to rescind:

"I am innocent. You villagers are wrong."

And today, he walks to his own funeral, yet again…

**End of Part I, Arc I **

**Guttersnipe's Word: **This is a short project I'm working on. It will be written in arcs, of three chapters each. Each arc will deal with one team, with one chapter devoted to each team member (senseis not included). This is the first arc, dealing with Team Seven. The next chapter is Sasuke's, and after that is Sakura's. After those, a new arc, devoted to a different team, will begin.

Ramen is to Naruto, as clicking is to the review button, Mr. Clicky. Please don't deprive Mr. Clicky of his one true love. Please review.


	2. Arc I, PII: Staining the Rainbow Black

I, According to Me

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. That copyright belongs to Masashi Kishimoto.

_I don't want to be perceived the way I am_

_I just want to be perceived the way I am_

-"Chap Stick, Chapped Lips, And Things Like Chemistry" by Relient K

**Arc I: The Lonely Ones**

**Part II: Staining the Rainbow Black**

"I'm not a prodigy, just an Uchiha."

That is what he mutters under his breath when the murmuring, awed masses make mention of _tensai_ while looking at him. He's not the genius in his family. Far from it. He knows this; has been _painfully _aware of it since the time his mind could first comprehend kunai trajectories. _Comprehend_, but not _master_, as his dear nii-san had so easily done.

And he resents that title. Tensai. Genius. _Prodigy. _It burns his skin, so hated is that term. So damnably proud and upstanding; something to flaunt; something to carry with pride in hand. And invariably, someone to look up to; someone to aspire to emulate; someone to _surpass_. Because, for all of his betrayal and subterfuge, his nii-san was truthful when he said that others will hate people with power greater than their own. Admiration only has a shelf life of so long, before it spoils, rotting into an uneasiness that soon ferments to become fear. And people only fear what they do not understand, and what they do not understand, they hate.

Sasuke knows all this. He knows it, but power is what his hand reaches for anyway. He has never thought to pull back from it. He has been alone for so long, the painful alienation that comes with feared strength means nothing to him but more of the norm. _What is another scrape on an already-scarred arm?_

And it is not as though he likes the pain; likes being the kicked puppy. Despite his penchant for insinuating himself into volatile and evermore damaging situations, he does not like the hurt they hold as companion. He willingly accepts it as it comes in higher and higher tides, but he does not wish for it.

Indeed, his wish---if one could call a desire so dark by that hopeful, innocent word---is to eradicate his (ghost) pains from his past that haunt him, ever-present, and rob him of a sane future.

So, a little more; just a little more isolation; just a little more self-loathing to complement his outward hatred of his nii-san (they are brothers, after all); just a little more anguish to alienate him further---to allow him to keep _them_ away. Because, when the pain hits, he shuts his (gifted/cursed) eyes tight. And he cannot see those he will one day cast aside. Colours---blue and yellow and orange; dark grey and light grey, always grey…; and green and pink and red (and he tries not to think of the dichotomous quality those colours present in relation to him: her red and pink to his blue, her green to his red (eyes that scorn her, yet see little else but green and pink when closed once leaving her)). Colours do not enter his sight then. And he can ignore---forget even---for a while that he even has the option of being painless for a moment; a lifetime.

Because his eyes are still closed---though he _knows_ what is beyond that thin layer of skin---he cannot see it. Does not allow himself to see anything but that red hell (and pink and green, and yellow and blue, and all that grey) his nii-san gifted him with free access to. He can visit it anytime he wants now---more like, whether he wants to or not. (He has to sleep sometime, after all, and that is the ticket to his very own, private hell. (_Such a thoughtful gift, nii-san…_))

Anything outside of perfection is vestigial (pink and yellow are such convoluted colours; grey is almost acceptable. Almost. (And he ignores how he doesn't mention green and blue as being frivolous---their unnecessary complications lending to imperfection. His eyes are still closed anyway (_Colours have no meaning when you can't see them._), though his mind's eye can still offer glimpses: it never closes, nor does it turn away from what it _wishes_ to see.)), so they cannot be part of his (im)perfect (dark) wishes.

He must endure (the pain; the pursuit of (un)happiness; the phantom from his darkest night(mare) by himself.

Though that shuddering eight-year-old inside of him (tremulously) whispers of fear. Fear of pain; fear of loneliness (_Kaa-san! Tou-san!_); fear of (becoming) his nii-san.

But the awed masses are whispering too. And they continue to say that word: _tensai_. His irritation and anger boil over again, and that cursed gift upon his neck begins to etch its way deeper into his skin. And it (_really_) hurts.

The pain… He cannot escape it, regardless of his choice: to continue to play games in a colourful world or to leave it for a land of Sound, where darkness robs colour of life and silence reigns supreme.

So, his inner child's whispers are drowned out by that eerie quiet (_Oto… It is populated by hollow winds and even more hollow people…)_, though he remembers the sentiment.

And it gnaws at him: to pursue perfection so he might deal death, or accept his inadequacies and pursue a world of green, blue, and grey. It sounds alluring…

Then that crimson/coal dominion takes hold, bleeding hatred and vengeance upon his vibrant world, staining the rainbow black and the sky red (ironically, because of his nii-san's kaleidoscope eyes).

Suddenly, he cannot accept his mediocrity. It is shameful, to be so weak. It shames his fallen family's name (_"You are not like your brother."_) and it sickens him to the point of a fevered rage. He is not good enough. He was not worthy of dying with his family, yet he is not worthy of living in their stead. So, where does that leave him? In some sort of limbo for the contemptible failures?

So he trains and hones and perfects. Everything is a means to a (stronger) end. Everything to that one goal; that one ambition.

And the disconcerting circumstance, of a boy so young having an ambition so _tainted_, is not lost on him. It is repugnant in its straightforwardness; far too blunt and _human_ to be fit for the mind of (what should have yet been) an innocent child. He knows such goals are not normal. He knows he is not---has never been---normal. (People often mistake mediocrity for normalcy, as his parents did. Perhaps they ought to have been concerned about _him_, as well as his nii-san.)

But it is (unfortunately) what he is. He has never hidden it (_But I wish it were invisible…_); never shied away from it (_But I would like to abandon it, instead of how I know I will one day abandon _them_…)_. He has embedded it deep within the layers of dried blood that coat his anaesthetized soul, though it bears down on him like a felled tree.

Because just once he would like to be able to say, "I'm Sasuke," and not have people respond, "An Uchiha!" or, "A prodigy," or, "The avenger of _that _clan."

He would like to know how it feels to fail at something his first try at it, and not feel the accusatory eyes staring at his slumped form, silently shouting, "You're weak," or, "Second-rate Uchiha," or, "You are not like your brother."

He would like to forgo pride and take the fall, straight up.

He would like to admit that he _isn't_ perfect (and probably never will be…).

But he cannot do those things because _Uchiha _do not do those things. And regardless of how he wishes he could just be Sasuke for a moment, he will _always _be an Uchiha.

So, he follows the Sound (_Surely a misnomer…)_ that calls him away, into isolation, yet again.

The colours fade. And he lives in a silent world of blacks and reds.

**End of Part II, Arc I**

**Guttersnipe's Word: **Next up is Sakura and the end of Arc I.

Revenge is to Sasuke, as reviewing is to Mr. Clicky, down there. You wouldn't steal Sasuke's revenge, so please don't deny Mr. Clicky his sole purpose for existence. Please review.


	3. Arc I, PIII: Another Piece

I, According to Me

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. That copyright belongs to Masashi Kishimoto.

_I don't want to be perceived the way I am_

_I just want to be perceived the way I am_

-"Chap Stick, Chapped Lips, And Things Like Chemistry" by Relient K

**Arc I: The Lonely Ones **

**Part III: Another Piece to Her Collection**

"I am _more _than what you have seen of me. And if you would look closer, to see the real behind your imagined truth, you would see that the '_more_' hiding there is the same pain you have hidden inside, too."

That is what she thinks when her team-mates shut her out of their regrettable pasts; when they pull back from her with their masks of sunshine smiles and gruff retorts. They do not realize the truth behind her eyes, for when it shows itself in her green sight, their own blue and dark grey eyes are ever directed elsewhere.

It is at these times that she thinks she could hate them.

It is always the same. They---her team-mates---are vulnerable, their weaknesses revealed to her ever-watching green eyes. Not Naruto's lamentation over the seeming impossibility of his dream (though she knows it weighs on the blonde boy more than he will ever admit even to himself), nor is it Sasuke's desperation for power, for vengeance. No, what she sees is their loneliness. Solitude. Their separation from life.

That is the root of their pain. And she sees it quite clearly.

She knows she is the only one who _can_ see it; the truth behind their unintentional lies (except for Kakashi, of course, but the man has lonely demons of his own to contend with).

So she offers quiet smiles and encouraging words---all that she _can_ do for the broken and discarded boys she loves so much (because even if she clobbers Naruto but does not lay a (hurtful) hand on Sasuke, and says she hates the blonde while declaring love for the dark-haired one, she _does _love the loud-mouthed boy. It is a friendly love, a sisterly love, but it _is _love, nonetheless).

And it is at those times, when she watches their internal torments (_from the back, as always_) and she lends them what she can of herself, that she almost hates them.

Because they block her advances with bright grins and boisterous proclamations, and cool words with even colder shoulders.

In so doing, they are telling her that they do not need her help; do not believe that she _can _help them with the weaknesses they allow the world to see.

And this scars her. That they think she cannot see beyond their walls of convenient truth to the _core_ of their pain. That they think she is fooled, as most everyone else is, by their charades that _failure_ is their greatest enemy. (And she _knows_ that they use this convenient façade not only because it _is_ partially true and most people will believe it, but also because it seems like a less _shameful_ pain than the _real_ one that plagues them. They are shinobi, after all. Any ninja can relate to a desire for _strength_, for _betterment_, for _acknowledgment_. But not all can relate to the pain of loneliness. Indeed, any model shinobi would quote the ninja handbook about the rules regarding emotion. Ninja saying twenty-five: '_No matter what situation, a shinobi must keep emotions on the inside._' And an emotion as far-reaching and all-encompassing as loneliness is quite possibly the worst for a nin to openly display. For loneliness taints all other emotion and seeps into every action. If you are lonely, then you are _always _lonely. It is not like anger or joy, which fade with time and circumstance. If one is _truly _lonely, that feeling _never _fades. It follows them into missions and battle and back to the village, and before the Hokage as they give their reports. They are always _feeling _loneliness. They are always _feeling_. And as such, they _cannot_ be perfect shinobi. And for Naruto to become Hokage, he must become as close to perfect as he can get. And for Sasuke to gain the strength he seeks, nothing short of perfection will do. So, the facades hide their greatest flaws with lesser, excusable ones, thus maintaining the illusion that they know how to amputate their (_crushed, mutilated, and neglected_) souls and _not_ feel.)

Because she _does _see underneath the underneath, as their sensei puts it. She _does _see the true pain behind their convenient ailments.

But they do not think she does. They take her offerings of comfort as treatment for their _façade _pain, and as such they decide that they do not need it and swiftly decline it.

But her comfort, her understanding, her _love _is not for those well-crafted lies they protect themselves with. It is all for their solitude. That they, her team-mates, do not believe she could understand their pain hurts her like no jutsu ever could.

And she can only assume that their lack of belief in her comprehension of them is because they do not think she understands loneliness. This thought only hurts her more, as she knows that if they would just once (_just once_) look at her (_look at _me) when she offers her (_I_) love (_you_), her (_with all my_) heart, her _soul_, that they would _see_ that she has it too.

The pain. The _loneliness_.

Hers may not be as dark as theirs. It may not be as complete and therefore not as painful as theirs. But she feels it just the same. And yes, she understands: It (_really_) _hurts_.

It wrenches inside, like a great vice twisting one's heart from its resting place in one's soul. And then the hollowness that ensues is like a vacuum; your chest feels caved in and you cannot, for the life of you, stand tall. You feel insignificant and nonexistent (_useless; I'm just a burden…_), and those sentiments echo in the cavern of your chest, where your (_Sasuke-kun, I love you with all my_)heart once rested. And your soul collapses (_so weak_), as its main axis is now missing. It crumbles in a slow decay that seems to take eons, but the pain makes you wish it would just end already. And everything looks too bright while _you_ sit in shadow (_a blonde boy used to always sit on a swing that hung in the shadow of a tree, outside the academy_). Sounds come in muffled and echo in your mind tinny, irritating, _hurtful _(_is that why he left for Oto? To find a (S)ound that is pure and clear, because a (L)eaf sounds crinkly and harsh?_). Because it always sounds like laughter. But your soul is silent. Crying is irrelevant because the heaving of your chest just makes the hollow there shift and stretch wider, aggravating the fissures in your gradually corroding soul.

And no platitude can end it. No bolstering adage or hearty slap on the back will cure it. The only way to heal the pain is to fill the hole left in your soul by your torn out heart with someone else's.

_That _is where friends and lovers come in. That is where _team-mates _come in.

But her comrades do not seem to embrace this cure.

Even Naruto, for all his value of team-mates and friendship and _bonds_, does not embrace this. For if he did, he would see Sakura's true intention when she offers solace. He would not brush it off with a catchy comment and a foxy grin that forces his eyes closed, preventing him from looking at her (_look at _me) and seeing that familiar emotion mirrored in her own green eyes. He would see that she understands.

And Sasuke… If he would just allow himself to admit that he is not perfect---that he _can_ use help---if he would stop turning away from her (_look at _me. _See _me) he would see it too: Loneliness inside.

But there is a rift between them. She knows. Has known it since the beginnings of Team Seven. Their dreams. Their ambitions. They are so _grand_; so long-reaching. They dream of futures where their lives' ambitions take centre focus; everything hinges on their goals.

She dreams of simple things; immediate things; things that do not require power and perfection, or _death_. She does not dream of positions of power or ultimate strength; isn't _capable _of such grandiose aspirations; does not possess the capacity to conjure or reach for such heights.

She is not like them. They have boundless energy and strength; cunning skills she could never hope to achieve. They are scarred and damaged in ways she has never fathomed. They are _together_ in their loneliness; their pain.

She is not a part of that.

They are her team-mates. They are to be her most important people. She trusts them with her life. But they do not even trust her with their memories. Saving her from the harsh cruelty of their world, they silently agree with each other. An excuse to keep her apart from them, she responds mutely. They want to keep her just as she is. She wants to understand them more. They fear this will change her: their precious doll turned into a real girl. She wants to be close to them. She wants to relieve their loneliness. They keep her at a distance; interacting but never leaving marks.

And the distance grows each day. As does her loneliness.

She is not like them; never has been. But perhaps someday, she will be. Because, for all their good intentions---keeping her in a little box separate from their own so their dark, lonely pasts will not taint her future---they fail to realize the kunai they have slowly been stabbing themselves with.

Little by little, they break off a piece of their loneliness and give it to her. Each bright grin is another piece to her collection. Every cutting word adds to the pile. Slowly but surely, they are giving her just what she has always asked of them. They are giving her a way to better understand them. They are giving her loneliness.

And her world does not look so sunny anymore. And the sounds seem to come in muted, as though she were underwater. But for some reason, their blue and slate grey eyes have never seemed as vibrant as they do when her world is stained sepia. And the blonde's laugh and the dark-haired boy's half-words have never sounded so crisp; so clear.

So she continues to offer soft smiles and even softer words, and takes the well-veiled rejection of her comfort with a deceptively innocent nod, as she adds another piece to her lonely collection. Because even if they don't see it (_just look at _me), she _is _together with them in their loneliness. And it is what she has always wanted. To be close to them (_I just want to be acknowledged by you_). To understand them fully (_why don't you ever tell me anything?_).

And when the day comes that both of her abandoned boys make _her_ their abandoned girl, the blow of solitude is not as heavy as it might have been, had her tidy collection of loneliness not been flourishing already (_Sasuke-kun. Naruto. Always looking out for me…_).

**End of Arc I**

**Guttersnipe's Word: **Ugh, crap! This one just _would. not. end! _I ended it like four times, and then I looked at it and was just, "No, that doesn't work." And even now, I don't think it really works. (I'm fairly certain I changed direction with this thing _at least_ three times, so if it doesn't form a cohesive idea, _that's_ why.) I just wanted this thing _done_ already. Naruto's and Sasuke's were _sooo_ much easier. And I noticed that each chapter gets about one page longer than the last. I need to make sure that trend doesn't continue, or else I'll be up to about fifteen pages once I get to the Sand Siblings (the last team on my list)!

Anyway, the next arc will deal with Team Eight, though the order of the characters' chapters is still up in the air.

You get a virtual fortune cookie. Inside it says, "Leaving a review will bring prosperity in your future." Don't deny the cookie, dudes. Please visit Mr. Clicky and review!


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